Steam Rising
by love and petrichor
Summary: "I guess we all need a reminder," she says, her gaze looking nowhere but forward. "A reminder that we're alive and real, flesh and blood." Jack hasn't smoked in six years. Set during the firefighter universe in The Changeling.


**A/N: This has not been beta'd so all mistakes are mine (It's 3am and my head hurts, sorry if things don't make sense. I think lots of concepts fly here and there throughout this thing)**

**also oh my god I'm getting a huge following for my SG-1/DW crossovers and sdghsldkfjsd I guess I need to get started on that ASap i'm so sorry you guys. Your patience is amazing wow**

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He takes a deep breath and all he can feel is the burn from the smoke so he's not sure why he's taken an old pack of cigarettes that he promised to never smoke again and smoke them like the little stick of tobacco is his lifeline.

He traces back many years ago when he still smoked. His son died from a house fire and not so long after that, his wife divorced him due to the emotional baggage. He smoked because he needed to feel that he's still somewhat in reality and not drifting away deep into his mind.

He glances up at the Christmas lights encircling the gazebo he sits in. It's probably from some celebration, a wedding, perhaps.

This situation is very ironic on so many levels.

It's dark out in the park that stands just outside the gazebo, but he doesn't need the dim lights to know that someone is approaching him. He listens to the growing sound of feet sloshing on the dirt path and he can hear the caution with each step. It doesn't take that long for him to realize who the person was. Or the fact that she's been standing in the rain for an excessive amount of time.

She stops right at the top of the steps so she's basking in leftover fairy lights. She's soaked to the skin—her hair is in a mess as if she's been running her hair through it several times and water cascading down all parts of her clothes and body, ending up in a pool around her feet.

They stare at each other for an extended amount of time, the only sound coming from the rain pattering down from the outside. There's no "silent" conversation going on as they usually have in the workplace and there's no urging each other on to start a conversation involving saying actual words with their vocal chords. They just bask in the silence and they continue staring just as they were staring four days ago during their last mission in the burning house when they thought they were going to die and burn their way up to heaven. Which is the usual, but this time, maybe it's a little too much.

He continues breathing in the burning tobacco like he never stopped all those many years ago. He notices as the smoke he breathes out gets in the way of his line of vision with her, making her seem foggy and distant just like her image in the smoke, skin blackened and bruised.

She looks tired and weary like she's ready to collapse at any moment. But of course, she's still standing, that stubborn captain of his.

"Ironic."

Her voice is barely heard in the roar of the rain, but he definitely catches it. Even her voice sounds weary: a voice that is old in a body so young.

He doesn't say anything and lets her continue.

"A firefighter who smokes. Like he can't get enough soot in his lungs."

He feels like those words, coming from another person, would be spat out in resentment. But coming from her, it seems more like a statement of fact or an acceptance of reality, void of any biased emotion.

"I haven't smoked in six years."

His voice could barely be heard too.

She finally moves from her position and saunters across the wooden floor and sits next to him, her position made so she isn't sitting too far, making things seem hostile; or too close so as not to break the so-called boundaries their job forces them to make.

He's not sure if the boundary is there anymore. It's as if this boundary was drawn by chalk only to become faded as time passes by and experience grows.

"I guess we all need a reminder," she starts, her gaze looking nowhere but forward. "A reminder that we're alive and real, flesh and blood."

"What's yours?" he asks.

"I've been spending most of my nights outside when it rains. I thought that maybe the rain would wash out all the ashes and smoke I've collected over the years and that maybe I'd feel somewhat human again."

She runs her fingers through her slick blonde hair and takes a deep and shaky breath.

"Do you feel human?"

"For a fleeting moment," she replies. "It feels good, like someone's taken the weight off my shoulders so I can fly a little bit." She pauses and picks herself back up again. "What's your excuse?"

He takes time to think over the answer. He's doesn't think of himself as a poetic man of full of complex words but he can harbor the right words at the right time.

"I think it's more like being in control for me," he says. "The fire we work with as firefighters is uncontrollable. But the heat here," he gestures to the tip of the cigarette. "I can control it all I want. I can breathe the smoke in and out of my own free will. I can let it burn or I can drown it in water whenever I want."

"A tip of a cigarette burns at about 700 degrees Celsius," she murmurs.

He nods, rolling the butt of the cigarette between his first two fingers before taking another drag as he calculates his next move.

And then slowly, carefully, he extends his arm, offering the cigarette to her. She glances at the cigarette and then meets his gaze. He's not demanding or authoritative or superior like the leader he is back at the station. His walls are burning down.

He's human.

She smiles and scoots closer to him until their sides are flush against each other. He doesn't mind her clothes soaking his dry ones as he wraps his offering arm around her shoulders, pulling her as close to him as he could.

He transfers his cigarette to his opposite hand, hovering it near her face, his offer still standing. To his surprise, she lifts her head from his shoulder and takes a long drag of smoke before pulling back.

"Easy there, Carter," he says with a gentle chuckle as she blows the smoke out in front of her.

"Thank you," she says, cuddling up to him once more. "That felt good."

He can't help but run his fingers up and down her soft but rain drenched cheek and she can't help playing with his jacket as they continue sharing the one cigarette.

The image isn't unwelcome, but rather comforting. They aren't two firefighters under one command anymore, just two human beings trying to grasp onto what's real. He's the fire ready to burn and she's the water ready to extinguish. From the beginning up to this very moment, all they ever did was dance around each other taking watchful steps because if one of them slips, he could turn her into steam that disappears in an instant and she could wash him out and that would be the end of him.

Although, maybe in the end, they were meant to extinguish each other out into oblivion. No matter what, they'll still be steam rising to the cosmos anyways.

"People also make each other feel alive," he says as she buries her face into his jacket. "They can be pushed all the way to the edge, ready to fall, but one person can be an anchor for another. And vice versa."

She stays silent, enjoying the words of wisdom from such a contrasting man.

"I think we've fallen over already," she mumbles. "And it's impossible to go back."

"We can be each other's anchor."

She lifts her head to meet his gaze

"A reminder to bring ourselves back to reality?" she asks. "Is that all there is to it?"

He cups her face using the palm of his hand and something in his expression changes. She can detect a glimmer of hope, anticipation.

Love, perhaps.

"Not just that," he says in a soft voice. "I've finally found a reason why I'm willing to get up from bed to face reality every single day. I never thought one person could do that to me after all I've been through.

Hearing this almost makes her forget the concept of breathing, so before she over thinks herself, she captures his lips in a kiss with a passion that neither of them expected. Mouths open, tongues explore, and the sense of time is suddenly lost. She could taste the smoke of the tobacco from the back of his throat and he could taste the rainwater still present as his lips explores the junction of her neck. The cigarette falls from her hands as she holds onto his shoulders for dear life, but they don't notice at all. They also don't notice how the extra rainwater pooled around her extinguishes the fire of the cigarette.

He's fire and she's water and maybe the old cliché is true that opposites attract but the feeling of finally never felt so good.

The need for oxygen resurfaces and he pulls back, leaning his forehead against hers. He grazes his knuckles across her face, enjoying the way she closes her eyes and sighs at his caresses before burying her face in his neck.

"Shoulda done this years ago," she mumbles, her lips grazing the skin of his pulse point, making him shudder.

He chuckles. This is a side of her he rarely gets to see, and his heart surges knowing that this isn't the last time he'll see it.

"Let's not dwell," he replies, his voice barely a whisper. He kisses her on the forehead and pulls her closer because quite frankly, he can't get enough of her and her of him. "Maybe we should go before someone goes out to get us."

She nods and she lets him haul her up to her feet. However, their contact does not break as one of his arms is wrapped securely around her waist. Placing another kiss to her forehead, they move out into the rain still pouring down blankets of water.

He doesn't mind getting soaked just as much as she didn't mind taking a drag out of the cigarette earlier. She's water and he's fire but it doesn't matter anymore because she's evaporated and he's extinguished and all that is left is steam.

And with steam, the only way is up.


End file.
